


It's Only The Rest Of Your Life

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: Graham has a midlife crisis. Desperate to discourage him, Ryan ropes in Yaz for backup - and when she takes his grandad's side, they end up committing to a rather permanent decision...





	It's Only The Rest Of Your Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hookedphantom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedphantom/gifts).



> Absolute silliness inspired by a conversation with my fave (yes Billie that means you).

Ryan is regretting this decision, if he’s entirely honest. He’d made the perhaps-foolish mistake of thinking he could talk his grandad out of his chosen course of action if he accompanied him here, and he’d spent a sizeable chunk of the journey endeavouring to do so, only now… well, Graham isn’t budging. If anything, he seems all the more determined, and Ryan wonders if lecturing him was the right course of action given how stubborn his grandad can be. 

He sits back on the uncomfortable black leather sofa and scowls over at his grandad, who is sat beside him with a clipboard, looking like a parent on his kid’s first school trip. As Ryan watches, Graham skims down the long list of medical conditions on the form before him, circles ‘no’ to each one, and sucks in a long breath.

“I could’ve put ‘yes’ to all,” he teases, looking over at Ryan with a conspiratorial grin. “Seen what they made of me then.”

“They wouldn’t have touched you, Grandad,” Ryan notes wearily, looking around at the framed artwork on the walls and trying to ignore the unpleasantly clinical smell that seemed to be emanating from the very fabric of the place. “You wouldn’t’ve been a medical marvel, sorry.” 

“Disappointing,” Graham scrawls a signature and today’s date at the bottom of the form, then sets the clipboard down and affixes Ryan with an unreadable expression. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Ryan says, a touch too quickly. “Nothing’s the matter.” 

“You’ve spent the whole way here bending my ear about this, but now we’re here: not a peep.” 

“Well, you’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?” Ryan mutters, folding his arms and attempting a casual shrug. “No changing it, so what’s the point?”

The bell above the door clangs and Yaz steps inside, her face set into the kind of stern expression that Ryan recognises as what he’s dubbed her ‘police face.’ She marches over to them both and stands in front of Graham, hands on her hips, scowling down at him with the sort of intensity that would make lesser men cower in fear. (Indeed, just the previous weekend, Ryan had seen the same look used on a couple of Thestrins two galaxies over. The results had been instantaneous.) 

“What’s this about a tattoo?” she demands to know, her tone officious and stern, and Ryan realises that she’s taking this just as seriously as he’d hoped. “Come on, spill.” 

“What’s she doing here?” Graham asks Ryan with a groan, before realisation dawns. “Did you-” 

“I called her for backup,” Ryan admits. “She’s scarier than I am.” 

“I am not,” she shoots back, but she looks a touch pleased by the compliment. “I’m just better at being stern than you are. You’re too nice.” 

“Backup for what?” Graham picks the clipboard up and holds it to his chest like a shield. “You’re not going to try and talk me out of it, are you, love?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m here to do,” she says firmly, then her tone softens. “This is absolutely a midlife crisis decision, that’s all it is.”

“Yaz, love,” Graham reaches over and pats her on the hand tentatively. “I’m 58, don’t you think I’m a bit past that?” 

“Fine, late-life crisis,” she raises her eyebrows before continuing: “You’re going to regret this, you know.” 

“Nah,” he says easily, seeming unruffled by her warning. “I’ve had cancer, remember? I for one know that life’s too short to worry about regrets.” 

“It’s still a tattoo. It’s forever.” 

“So’s Ryan, and you’re not trying to talk me out of him.” 

“Ryan’s not something you have to carry around on your skin forever and ever,” Yaz points out, and Graham gets a mischievous look.

“I dunno,” he muses, pretending to give the matter some serious thought. “That could be my second one, couldn’t it? ‘Ryan’ in curly writing, with his date of birth and a picture.” 

Ryan’s face falls, and Graham cracks up. “I’m joking, son,” he leans over and pats Ryan on the knee. “Don’t you worry.”

“What _is_ the plan for the first one, then?” Yaz asks, her stern expression slipping a fraction as curiosity takes over. “Spill.” 

“The TARDIS.” 

“Nice!” Yaz enthuses, and Ryan shoots her a bemused glare, which she magnanimously ignores. “Where?” 

“I was thinking the middle of my forehead,” Graham deadpans, then catches sight of Yaz’s face and guffaws. “On my forearm, Yaz. Then I can keep it covered if I have to.” 

“Well, fine,” Ryan blurts, his brain coming up with one final, desperate idea to persuade Graham out of this mad scheme. “If you’re getting one, I’m getting one too.” 

Graham leans back in his seat, grinning. “Fine,” he says casually. “Not a problem. Same as mine, or different?” 

“Same,” Ryan says quickly, forcing himself to smile. “Then we can match, Grandad.” 

“Indeed we can.”

“Well, if you’re both getting one, I want one,” Yaz chips in, looking suddenly enthusiastic at the prospect. “Not on my arm though, work would have a field day. Maybe my ankle; bit more covert.” 

“That would be very nice,” Graham says approvingly, and Ryan wants to shout at them both. “Good idea.” 

The tattooist approaches them with a smile, holding out her hand for Graham’s clipboard. “All ready?” she asks sunnily, as Graham hands it over and she scans the information given. 

“Well, actually,” Graham muses. “Have you got any free appointments today? For walk-ins, like?” 

“I’ve got one free after you,” she frowns as she thinks. “Or a double slot later on.” 

“Lovely,” Graham says. “We’d like to extend this appointment, please, because my wonderful grandson and his friend want to match good old Grandad. Can we have two more clipboards?”

 

* * *

 

They’re all sat in Graham’s lounge that evening, sharing a cup of tea and passing around a box of biscuits, when the TARDIS materialises – for once not on top of anything, and they’re universally grateful for this development. Graham looks from his forearm to the blue box in front of him, then grimaces guiltily.

“She’s going to be-” 

The Doctor steps out with a grin and her usual flourish, her coattails swooshing around her as she closes the doors behind her and lights up at the sight of biscuits. “Hi, gang!” she enthuses brightly, then notices their subdued expressions. “What’s wrong? Have I missed something? Has it been years and years? Oh, tell me I’ve not been gone years and years.” She leans down and looks Yaz in the face, eyes roving her skin as she tries to tell whether any ageing has occurred.

“You’ve not been gone years and years,” Yaz reassures her, pulling her down into a hug. “Just… well, we might’ve done something."

“Right…” the Doctor frowns, worry flickering over her features. “What sort of something?” 

Graham rolls up his sleeve, and the Doctor’s eyes widen in amazement as she takes in the illustration now inked on his forearm. “Oh, my gosh! That’s amazing! Who did this?! Oh, wow, it’s proper brilliant! Look at the colours! And the little tiny details! You can actually see the window panes! I think this has to be a first, the TARDIS is going to be so chuffed.” 

Wordlessly, Ryan and Yaz roll up their jeans and reveal their ankles and the Doctor’s eyes flick over their matching designs.

“Wait,” she freezes. “Was I the only one not invited to this tattoo sesh?”

“Well, it wasn’t a planned… sesh,” Yaz begins to explain, her cheeks flushing maroon as the Doctor looks devastated by this revelation. “Graham was getting one done and Ryan thought that volunteering to get a matching one would put him off, but it didn’t, so then I didn’t want to be left out, so I joined in.” 

“Well, I want one now,” the Doctor protests, looking genuinely put out not to have been invited. “Can’t be the only one left out.”

“Doc, you do know that tattoos are permanent, don’t you?” Graham asks. “Like, forever and ever?”

“Yes, Graham, I’d got that memo,” the Doctor rolls her eyes. “I did help invent them, you know.”

“Well, for you, forever could be quite a long time.”

“Until I regenerate again. Could be a long time, could be tomorrow. Who knows?! Regeneration’s such a lottery.”

“Just…”

“Nope. Take me back to where you got them done. Now.”

“It’ll be closed,” Ryan mumbles. “Can you wait until tomorrow." 

“Ryan, I have a time machine. I _never_ have to wait until tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

The Doctor looks into the mirror, flexing her shoulder and watching as the tiny TARDIS on her scapula rises and falls with each movement. It’s surrounded by a pattern of stars that she’d insisted on drawing onto the tattooist’s sketchpad herself, then inspected before the design could be placed onto her skin.

“It’s beautiful,” she says warmly, leaning over and wrapping the surprised-looking artist into a hug. “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure.”

The Doctor turns her attention to her friends, grinning at them with pride. “See, gang?” she says brightly. “Now we match.”


End file.
